


Drabbling in Your Love 2

by RosieTwiggs



Series: Drabbling in Your Love [2]
Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, Alternate Universe, Arrow Spoilers, BDSM, Blow Jobs, Body Shots, Crack, D/s, Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff, Future Fic, Multi, Sharknado - Freeform, The Arrow, body image issues, prompts, smoaking canarrow
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-02-13
Updated: 2015-02-18
Packaged: 2018-01-12 04:25:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 20
Words: 11,621
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1181875
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RosieTwiggs/pseuds/RosieTwiggs
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Continuing my drabble series. The previous collection was getting out of hand, so I decided to start a second one.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt from tumblr user queenwithsmoak: What about people who don't know oliver is the arrow (like lance/laurel ...) observe a tender moment btw him (as arrow) and felicity maybe even a kiss!? (after he saved her or a really dangerous mission where they worked together with lance or laurel or anyone else ... ) :D

Quentin Lance is definitely one for minding his own business. His motto is pretty much, “You don’t wanna tell, I don’t wanna know.”

But he  _does_  wonder about Felicity Smoak.

The girl is smart. Crazy smart. And loyal. Honestly, most days Quentin is relieved to know she’s out there, helping The Arrow do his thing, because as long as Felicity Smoak is on the job, the city is safe.

He worries about her though. He worries that The Arrow is using her, or that even if he isn’t, that she might get caught in the cross-hairs one of these days. She’s been put into a whole bunch of dangerous situations. He’s witnessed a few himself, and can only imagine how many more times she’s had her life threatened that he  _doesn’t_  know about.

So as much as he generally tries to keep his nose out of it, when he finds out Ms. Smoak has been kidnapped by the Triad, he reads the vigilante the riot act.

"How could you let this happen to her?!"

"Detective, now’s not the time." The Arrow’s modulated voice is strained.

"My ass, now’s the time! That girl is too good for you! She should be out, getting drinks with her friends, meeting a nice boy, living a normal life! Instead, she’s saving your ass on a regular basis, and you don’t even have the decency to make sure she stays sa-"

“ _Detective!_ " The aggravated roar makes him fall silent. He sees the vigilante take a deep breath, and when he speaks again, his voice is soft, desperate.

"I know," he says, tucking his chin down into his chest. "Believe me, I know. And if I could, I’d make her quit. I’d make her leave, go do something else. Find a better life. But I know her. She won’t go and I -"

Quentin frowns.

"I don’t want her to."

Ah.

The silence stretches out on the rooftop between them. Finally, he shuffles his feet and takes a step back. “Okay, big guy,” he says. “I’ll get a detail together. If you’ve got a plan, I’ve got the men. Just - don’t worry. We’ll get her back.”

The Arrow drops his shoulders and nods. “Thank you,” he says, and then he’s gone.

Later, after the raid, after they’ve read rights to more Triad members than they’ve ever managed to round up at a time, Quentin spots The Arrow on one of the rooftops nearby.

He’s holding onto Felicity like she’s his anchor, and maybe she is. She’s definitely more than just tech support, and when he sees The Arrow lean down and kiss her, his hood hiding the moment from the rest of the world, Quentin thinks he might get it after all. 

He shakes his head and gets into his car. “You don’t wanna tell, I don’t wanna know,” he mutters to himself, but he’s smiling as he turns the key in the ignition. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous requested: olicity (or smoaking canarrow) lair sex. and someone, probably digg, walks in. 
> 
> Explicit.

Felicity on her knees between his legs was pretty much the fulfillment of every wet dream he’d had for months.

Bright orange nails scraped up and down his thighs, digging into his skin, as her head moved up and down, perfect fuschia lips creating a delectable “o” around his cock.

She swirled her tongue around the head as she moved one hand to grip his base, tasting him, running her tongue over his slit, and Oliver dropped his head back against Felicity’s chair with a groan. His hands were tangled in her hair, and she lowered herself back down again, until he could feel himself pressing against the back of her throat.

Oh god… He was going to come. He could feel it at the base of his spine, building, and he ground out Felicity’s name, trying to warn her. She just grinned and kept going, giving him permission, and if that wasn’t the fucking hottest thing he’d ever-

The loud clang of the foundry door opening made them both freeze, and Oliver caught Felicity’s eyes, staring up at him in mirrored horror. 

"Oh, _fuck_ ,” he murmured, and then they were both moving frantically. Felicity pulled off of him with a  _pop_ , and Oliver clenched his teeth, breathing heavily through his nose. He stood, gingerly tucking himself back into his pants, as Felicity got up, buttoning her blouse back up as quickly as she could. She shooed Oliver away from her chair and sat down quickly, making herself look busy and Oliver just managed to move behind her to hide his still raging hard on, as Diggle walked into the room.

There were fifteen seconds of silence, where Felicity and Oliver both very pointedly didn’t look at him, and then John cleared his throat.

"Okay, if this is a thing that’s going to be happening, we’re going to have to lay down some ground rules."

Oliver finally turned, trying to look nonchalant. He opened his mouth to speak, but John held up a hand, stopping him.

"Don’t. You’ve got lipstick on your ear, and Felicity, you missed like three buttons." Felicity’s cheeks flushed a really attractive shade of red as she took in her shirt, turning away to fix it, and Oliver rubbed at his ear, fingers coming away stained pink.

Diggle sighed. “Just…” He shook his head.

"We’ll talk about this later. I’m outta here."

He turned and left, footfalls heavy on the staircase, and Oliver could have sworn her heard Diggle mutter, “Like rabbits, I swear to God…”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> My best friend on tumblr (raetherandom) was apparently high as fuck (because that is LITERALLY the only explanation) and prompted: Sharknado Olicity AU.
> 
> WARNING: COMPLETE AND TOTAL FUCKING CRACK
> 
> IN WHICH OLIVER IS THE WHITE DOUCHEBAG
> 
> DIGG IS THE TOKEN BLACK GUY
> 
> AND FELICITY IS THE ONLY ONE WHO MAKES ANY SENSE

Felicity watched on in horror as the colossal tunnel of wind and water and fucking  _sharks_  got closer.

"How is this even a thing that’s happening?!" she yelled, holding the rifle Diggle had given her to her shoulder. They were stranded on top of a bus out in the middle of the Glades. The water was rising around them, fins of Great Whites, and Tiger Sharks, and every single species in between circling them, just waiting for one of them to misstep.

Oliver was trying to shoot a zipline that they could use to escape, but he didn’t have enough cord and they were out of reach. His green leathers clung to him as he looked around in desperation.

A high pitch scream sounded from somewhere to their right, followed by several explosions, and suddenly the buildings around them were on fire? How?

And the tornado drew closer.

IT WASN’T EVEN FUCKING RAINING. There wasn’t a cloud in the sky!!!

"The science doesn’t make any sense!" Felicity screamed, as a shark leaped from the water, over the roof of the bus, and splashed down on the other side, just missing them.

"Felicity," Oliver growled out, "We’re going to have to swim for it."

Diggle nodded, strapping his own M-16 onto his back. The tornado was now close enough that she could see the sharks falling from the gale-winds into the flooded streets below.

"Are you out of your fucking green mind?!" she screamed.

Oliver shook his head. “Listen, my father was killed by sharks…”

"No he wasn’t, he  _shot_  himself!”

Oliver frowned. “That’s not the point. The point is, we can’t let them win.”

"They’re SHARKS. If we swim out into the water they WILL win. They will EAT us."

Oliver stepped right up into her personal space, gripping her face and leaning down for a passionate kiss.

He pulled away, looking determined and strapping his bow to his back as Felicity just stared at him in complete bemusement.

"Let’s hope it’s not that time of the month," he said, before grabbing her hand and leaping from the bus.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I actually sent myself into contractions from laughing so hard writing this. They calmed down. I am still very (unfortunately) pregnant. One and a half weeks and counting.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt from tumblr user rigormortisboy: Umm cheer up prompt! Oliver having fun with the voice modulator. "Luke, I am your father" etc.
> 
> So I already thanked them on tumblr, but just gonna mention it again - this definitely did the job of cheering me up. Also - whoops, accidental smoaking canarrow…

The sound of giggling and high pitched squeals of laughter carry up the moment he unlocks the side door of Verdant, getting back after a long night of pointless patrolling. Diggle went straight home, but he needed to stop by the Foundry to change. Oliver tilts his head listening for a moment, a smile lighting his eyes as he realizes Felicity and Sara are laughing together.

He heads downstairs, making sure to be loud enough so Felicity knows he’s coming

"Surprise!!!"

The yell is followed immediately by more giggles, and Oliver finds the two women sharing a bottle of wine (clearly not the first), and holding out a bouquet of about twenty helium balloons.

"I - what?" he asks, confused. It’s not his birthday, or theirs for that matter, so -?

"Happy Monday!" Felicity declares with enthusiasm.

"Monday."

Sara snorts, pouring herself more wine and topping off Felicity’s glass.

"As good a thing to celebrate as anything else, don’t you think?" she asks, arching an eyebrow, with that grin that makes her cheeks dimple.

Oliver tilts his head. “Uh-huh…” he responds slowly. “And the balloons?”

Felicity swirls her glass and takes another sip, humming in approval. “I haven’t gotten balloons in  _forever_. I missed balloons. So I ordered some. They cheer the place up, don’t you think?”

Oliver can’t really argue the point. The small bright pink, yellow and orange dirigibles do indeed add a certain flair to the basement. A flair that is entirely Felicity.

He tugs his hood back and pulls off his mask, unzipping his jacket and shrugging out of it and his suspenders.

"Okay, I’m sold. Happy Monday, pour me some wine."

Four bottles later, and the three of them are completely sloshed.

"Nononononooo…" Sara slurs, pointing a wobbly finger at Oliver. "Are you seriously telling me, you’ve  _never_  pulled the whole ‘I am your father’ bit with your voicy thingy?”

Felicity is braiding Sara’s hair and she leans down over her shoulder, speaking in her ear. Oliver loves watching the way Sara shivers and her eyes close when Felicity’s breath brushes over her skin.

"Please Sara, didn’t you know? Oliver is waaaaaaaay too serious for that. Look, he’s making his angry face just from you mentioning it."

"I am not," Oliver grumbles, and Felicity laughs in Sara’s ear. Sara leans her head back, exposing her neck and Oliver swallows. Felicity lays a quick kiss on it before pulling back and continuing to work on Sara’s braid.

"Fine," she says. "Prove it."

Oliver narrows his eyes but then nods tersely, standing up (slightly off balance) and reaching over to grab his jacket. He pulls a wire from an inside pocket, attaching the small electrode on the end to the side of his neck, just under his jaw. He hits the activation button and is just about to speak when - “

“ _Luke, I am your father!”_

Sara completely loses her shit and Oliver turns in surprise to find Felicity gasping for breath, an untied helium balloon held pinched in-between her fingers. Felicity’s laughter is coming out high-pitched and tinny, and each expulsion of her own helium altered breath makes her laugh even harder, until she finally manages to get enough oxygen in that her voice reverts back to normal.

"Nonono… wait, wait, even better!" Felicity inhales another deep breath of helium and then, with all the gravity she can muster, frowns and says, " _You have failed this city!_ " The frown doesn’t last. Halfway through the sentence she’s laughing, letting go of the balloon, which fizzes around the room before landing next to Oliver, and Sara’s lying down on her back, pounding her fist on the ground, tears streaming down her face.

Oliver bites his lip to try to keep a straight face, but ultimately can’t hold in a violent burst of laughter. Only, he’d forgotten the voice modulator was still on, and it comes out as a deep, slightly sinister cackle.

Felicity and Sara both freeze, looking at him with wide eyes, before losing it again. And that’s it. Oliver’s  _gone_ , he can’t even lift his hand up to turn off the machine, and each of his laughs just make him laugh harder.

By the time they calm down, they’re out of breath. Felicity’s moved to sit in his lap on the mats, and he’s leaning back against a pillar. She finally pulled the electrode off his neck a few minutes ago, and his voice is back to normal. He has an arm wrapped around her waist, and his nose is buried in her hair, breathing in deeply.

"I like this," he murmurs. "We should celebrate Mondays more often."

Sara nods, getting up and settling down next to him, leaning her head on his shoulder.

"So," she says softly, running her fingers up and down Felicity’s arm. Felicity’s eyes have fallen shut, and she’s probably almost asleep. "We staying here tonight?"

Oliver nods.

"Okay, I’ll get the sofa bed set up."

Oliver grips her arm before she can stand back up.

"Wait," he says, enjoying the feel of her by his side. "Just, wait a little bit. Then I’ll help you. For now I just want to -"

Sara understands. He eyes soften and she leans back down, lacing her fingers through his.

Felicity’s light snuffles begin a minute later and they both know she’s fallen asleep.

"Happy Monday," Sara whispers.

Oliver leans his head back and closes his eyes.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous requested: Drabble prompt- Felicity on a juice cleanse, is all sorts of pissed off. Oliver comforts. Could be fluff or that now that she is in the limelight, she's getting a lot of criticism? Please and thank you!

"Felicity…"

"No."

"Feliiiciityyy…."

"Oliver, I said  _no_.”

She continued typing as though he wasn’t there. Well, typing was being kind really. It was more like murdering the keyboard, taking out her frustration and anger on the qwerty line.

Oliver picked up the faint sound of Felicity’s stomach grumbling yet again, from where he was perched on the edge of her desk. The morning rush had died down, and Oliver was ready to take a well earned break.  _Most_  people were out getting lunch about now.

And Felicity had been on a juice cleanse for three days.

He’d asked her why she thought she needed to do this two days ago, which had sent her into a twenty minute rant about how  _men_  didn’t need to worry about how  _they_  fit in to their tuxes when they got married, and the unfair beauty standards set for  _women_ ,  _especially_  on a day that should be about _them_ , and  _why, God, why_  had she eaten all those fries last week?? her dress was  _never_  going to fit her now, and the stress was just too much, she couldn’t _take_  it anymore!

Then the tears had come.

Oliver was coming to resent whatever wedding dress Felicity and Thea had decided on. He’d spent an hour calming his fiance down. Not much sent Felicity into hysterics, but apparently this wedding was causing her endless amounts of stress, especially as the day drew nearer, and he’d wondered, not for the first time, if they shouldn’t have just eloped.

Felicity had been stomping around the office all morning (as well as one could in the heels she was wearing), and Oliver was sure of two things: One, being hungry was not helping the situation. Two, there was very little a bottle of expensive red wine couldn’t cure when it came to his future wife.

Oliver smiled softly, watching her glare furiously at her screen, affection warring with amusement.

"What?" she asked, her glare now aimed at him.

Oliver shrugged. “I love you,” he said, the words and sentiment now a simple fact of his every day life, one he shared regularly.

He counted three seconds in his head before Felicity’s eyes finally softened. “I love you too.”

Oliver nodded. “Okay, so come get lunch with me, please?”

Felicity sighed. “Oliver…”

"No, listen. We’re getting married in  _four_  days. Unless you binge eat deep fried chocolate from now until then, your dress is going to fit you just fine.” Oliver stood from the desk and reached over, taking both of her hands in his and pulling her up. Felicity bit at her lower lip, looking uncertain.

"I for one, would really love for you to spend the next few days happy and relaxed. We’re getting married Felicity. It’s not the end of the story, it’s the beginning, and the wedding? It’s just the  _party_.  _One_  party. And we’re going to have so many more - we’re going to have birthdays and anniversaries, and hopefully a couple of _baby showers_ …” He smiled down at her, and now she was biting her lip to keep from smiling. 

Oliver wasn’t having any of it. He tugged her lip free with his thumb and leaned down, kissing her lightly. When he pulled away, Felicity hummed in contentment.

"Baby showers, huh?"

Oliver nodded. “Absolutely. At  _least_  six or seven of them.”

Felicity laughed then, the sound finally dissipating the tension he’d felt in the office since this morning.

"If you want seven kids,  _you_  can give birth to them, Oh Great and Powerful Arrow.”

Oliver grinned, and huffed out a quick breath, raising his eyes to the ceiling before looking back down. He brushed his thumb along Felicity’s cheekbone and she leaned in the touch.

"Have lunch with me?" he asked.

A pause and then -

"Okay."


	6. Original Sin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For ohmypreciousgirl, naturemanda and andymcnope on tumblr who wanted body shots. Smoaking Canarrow style.

It was like a scene out of every college fantasy he’d ever had.

He’d come down the foundry steps silently, vaguely wondering where everyone had gone. Diggle had the night off, but Felicity should be here, and he hadn’t seen Sara behind the bar upstairs. As he started to strip out of his gear, removing his hood and mask and putting his bow where it belonged, he’d heard a low moan and a giggle from somewhere near the back of the lair. Instinct had him freezing, muscles clenched, ready to attack, before he identified the two voices - Felicity and Sara. Curious, he followed the sounds of soft laughter and froze when he found Felicity sprawled on a spare medical table, shirt and bra discarded on the floor, nipples rosy and tight in the cool air. 

Sara was walking her fingers down the valley between Felicity’s breasts, grinning, reaching out to tweak a nipple with her thumb while Felicity moaned.

She licked a stripe beneath one mound and reached to Felicity’s other side, grabbing a salt shaker that stood next to a bottle of tequila and a bowl of lime slices that Oliver hadn’t noticed, because, well, yeah… She shook some salt out onto the damp stripe, and unscrewed the cap on the tequila.

"Ready?" she asked Felicity breathlessly.

Felicity didn’t respond, just opened her mouth, and God, Oliver was already hard imagining the possibilities. Sara poured a little bit of tequila into Felicity’s mouth, then promptly licked the salt from her skin, nipping slightly, and then leaned over and kissed her.

The kiss was deep, intense. Oliver could imagine Sara’s tongue sweeping through Felicity’s mouth, capturing every last drop of tequila, the saltiness on her tongue permeating Felicity’s senses as well. He clenched his jaw, palms itching to touch both of them as Sara pulled away smirking, and grabbed two lime slices, biting into one and handing the other down to Felicity, like some delicious and oh-so-wrong twist on the story of Eden.

Felicity hummed in appreciation, and Sara smiled before looking up, straight at him.

"We have an audience," she said softly, nodding her head towards Oliver.

Felicity turned and let out a surprised little, “Oh!”

The quiet settled around them as Oliver tensed, wondering what would happen next, now that he’d been caught.

Then, eyes never leaving his, Felicity slowly brought her wrist up to her mouth and licked the inside. Sara shook some salt onto the delicate skin and then Felicity was reaching the same hand out to him.

"Want a taste?"


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> naturemanda on tumblr requested: olicity + coffee. because i'm making my coffee.

She doesn’t make him coffee at the office.

Not unless it’s one of those days where he feels like he’s been battered from all directions, thrown up against the walls that separate his numerous lives and lies, and every attempt at doing what’s right and good has been turned on it’s head and twisted until he can’t recognize what he set out to do in the first place, until he doesn’t know what he’s doing at all. Until he’s just… so… tired.

She knows. On those days, somehow, Felicity knows that his soul and his psyche have been beaten down beneath the weight of obligation, and guilt, and public opinion. And as he sits hunched at his desk, shoulders slumping forward, curling in on himself to try to block it all out, he’ll smell the distinct scent of the ground coffee beans she special ordered from Turkey, and look up to find her setting down a steaming cup with just a touch of milk at his desk, and a soft smile of encouragement he finds more invigorating than the caffeine.

Sometimes, she’ll make him coffee in the foundry.

On stormy nights, when he comes back from patrol dripping in his leathers, the bite of the rain seeping in between the pieces of his suit, where the sleeve meets his shoulder, or through the zipper, soaking the cloth of his hood and sliding down his back. Drenched, cold, it doesn’t matter whether the patrol was a success, or whether he feels like he could have done more, been faster, stronger, better.

On those nights, he’s closer to the island, the physical discomfort of the damp and chill blurring the lines of the warm reality he’s built for himself, and as he comes down the foundry stairs, footsteps lagging because ( _danger, enemies, can they see me if i can’t see them?_ ) of the cycle playing over and over in his head, he catches the smell of strong Colombian roast, with a touch of cinnamon for heat, and she’ll be waiting at the bottom with a towel and a mug that’s hot, but just cool enough to drink right away. She puts sugar in his coffee on those nights, like she knows the added sweetness will tether him to reality - one where things like hot showers, and soft beds and  _her_  exist.

She makes him coffee every Sunday morning.

Their weeks are whirlwinds, mornings scrambling to get out on time - they learned early on that it was much faster to shower separately than together (they cheat sometimes), rushing to look presentable, Felicity particularly frazzled as she meticulously applies any of a number of bright lipsticks, all because they stayed in bed for an extra ten minutes ( _"Mmmm’Oliver so warm… turn off the alarm…" Stretching legs out, toes touching, burrowing deeper into each other._ )

Nights are defined by green leather and the hum of computers, the crackle of the comm link in his ears, and his stomach clenched in the anticipation of a fight. They fall into bed in the small hours of morning, sometimes they’re frenzied, biting and sucking at each other, relieving the tension of too many hours pretending to be anything but what they are right in that moment, two bodies sharing one soul; sometimes it’s slow and soft and  _so necessary_ , they both need that reassurance that they are loved, intensely, completely. Sometimes they just fall asleep, and the world is blocked out for a time by the huge down blanket on Felicity’s bed, a battlement of soft feathers guarding them against treachery.

But Sundays are theirs. Some are a haze of gold curls, and delicate patterns traced into marred skin, and fluttering kisses as they fall in and out of consciousness, in and out of each other. It’s fuzzy, like dust motes floating in beams of sunlight. Others are sharp - being woken up by someone yelling on the street below or by the construction work from two floors down, the smell of Felicity’s nail polish as he paints her toes, her laugh, going out for ice cream, little slices of the life he thought he’d never have but wanted and ached for in the deepest corners of his heart.

And Felicity always makes coffee. The smell of it percolating in the kitchen drifts through the apartment, finding him, curling around him and bringing him to her. He’ll sit down at the table and watch her, adding milk and sugar, because Sunday coffee is like Sundays, sweet and soft and warm, and when he drinks it, watching her drink hers across the table, he knows what love feels like.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written for the Olicity Hiatus Project Fic Challenge. The prompt was "Eyelid Kiss (Butterfly Kiss)". This takes place in the koala!verse.

“Shhh, Gaby, don’t wake up Mommy!” Oliver whispered fervently at his daughter, as the door to their bedroom creaked open. His alarm had gone off barely half a minute before, and he sat up, bleary-eyed, rubbing at his face and scratching at his beard. It was getting a little long, he needed to trim it.

Gaby padded around his and Felicity’s bed to stand in front of him, hair tousled, little purple nightgown reaching to her knees. His four-year-old had clearly just woken up as well.

“Do you know what day it is today?”

Gaby nodded. “It’s Mommy’s birfday,” she said, still having difficulties with her “th” sound, especially when she was tired.

“Daddy’s gonna make Mommy some breakfast in bed. Do you want to help me?”

Just like that, Gaby brightened up and the last vestiges of sleep were erased from her small features. She nodded with all the exuberance a four-year-old could muster and Oliver grinned, picking her up and tiptoeing out of the room.

He knew he probably didn’t need to worry. They’d had a late night, celebrating Felicity’s birthday a night early since they had a mission they couldn’t post-pone tonight. And he had made sure to tire her out (three times) when they had come home. Felicity wouldn’t wake up unless he woke her up.

He and Gabby got to work in the kitchen. He let her mix the ingredients for pancakes, turning a blind eye to the cloud of flour that puffed up when she didn’t dig the spoon in deep enough. He began rinsing and slicing strawberries, and turned on the coffee machine. When Gaby was done, he gave the batter a few more whisks to get out the lumps, and then began frying the pancakes.

In-between batches, they made orange juice, Oliver listening intently to Gaby prattle away about Freddy the Turtle at her preschool, and about the picture of a rainbow she was going to draw for Felicity’s present.

“Gabs, do you know what butterfly kisses are?” he asked her, after he’d helped her wash her sticky hands. He wiped off the remaining flour from her face, and Gaby shook her head.

“They’re special birthday kisses. Let me show you.”

He sat her on the kitchen counter and leaned forward, blinking quickly against her cheek.

Gaby erupted in squeals of laughter, tucking her chin down to her chest and shaking her shoulders.

“Daddy! Those tickle!”

Oliver laughed. “A little bit, yeah. Here, you try.”

Gaby put one pudgy little hand on each of Oliver’s cheeks and pulled him forward, replicating the motion.

“Like that?”

Oliver grinned. “Perfect. Let’s go upstairs and wake Mommy up with butterfly kisses?”

“Yeah! I like them!”

“I thought you would.” Oliver helped her down before piling everything on a tray and leading her upstairs.

They both whispered at each other as they tiptoed back inside, Gaby covering her mouth to try and quiet her giggles and failing. But Felicity didn’t move until they’d both climbed up on the bed and leaned over, tickling her cheeks with their eyelashes.

“Wha-?” Felicity stirred, pulling her head back to get a better look at what exactly was going on, and laughing when she realized.

“Well, hello!” she said, voice thick with sleep. Her hair was a tangled mess, just like her daughter’s, and just like their daughter, Oliver thought there was no one more beautiful.

“Daddy taught me how to give butterfly kisses.” Gabby bounced on her knees.

“I can see that!” Felicity grabbed her around the waist, pulling her in for a snuggle.

“We also made breakfast,” Oliver added, eyes twinkling. Felicity smiled up at him, Gaby tucked beneath her chin.

“Happy Birthday,” he said, leaning down and giving her a real kiss.

And then, muffled against Felicity, “Happy Birfday.”


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written for the Olicity Hiatus Project Fic Challenge. Prompt: Cheek kiss.

She knows.

Of course she knows. How could she not know? She’s Felicity Smoak, IT expert extraordinaire, hacker of high-school records and purveyor of secret information.

And today is Oliver’s birthday.

She’s also smart enough to realize why he hasn’t told anyone. She’d done every possible background search imaginable the moment she’d signed on to work with him to find Walter almost two years before. She’d compiled a list of bank account numbers, a collection of pictures Oliver Queen would never want released to the public, and every single detail of his life available up to that moment, minus a huge gap of five years. She had trusted him, but not quite enough to keep from protecting herself.

Of course she knew when his birthday was.

And she had wished, when she’d opened her front door one year ago to find a bottle of 1982 Lafitte Rothschild with a note saying thank you and good-bye, that he had stayed to at least drink it with her. Because even though the world had gone to hell, she was still glad he was alive, and there, and part of her life. And she had needed a little celebration in the face of total devastation.

But now…

She watches him across the living room they now share, as he folds his laundry, placing it in neat piles on the coffee table. They haven’t quite gotten to the point where they feel comfortable sharing laundry loads, but if Felicity has to guess, she’d say they’re a couple weeks away at most. He’d used her cereal spoon two days ago when he couldn’t find a clean one, just rinsing it for a second with water. True roommate-hood is in reach.

She wants to say all the things she wished she could have told him last year, plus a few extra things, if she’s honest. She wants to tell him that his birthday is special; that  _he’s_  special – to her, to Digg. She wants to take him out for crappy Chinese (it’s all they can afford) and splurge on some semi-decent wine and catch a movie somewhere. She wants to give him dumb balloons, green ones, just to be annoying, and make him wear a stupid party hat. She wants to bake him a cake and  _make_  him eat it, dumb superhero diets be damned. She wants him to know that even if this day doesn’t mean anything to  _him_ , it does to her, because if he’d never been born, where would  _she_  be right now?

But he’d visited Tommy’s grave yesterday, and woke up this morning silent and introspective and morose, so instead, Felicity just pulls out a little box and walks over, putting it on the top of his laundry basket. He tilts his head at her, brow furrowing and picks it up, turning it over in his hands.

“Felicity…” he begins, and she knows he’s going to argue with her, but she’s not having it.

“Shut up. Just open it, and we won’t talk about it anymore.”

He breathes out through his nose, it’s a sound he makes when he is  _displeased_ , but knows he can’t argue, and unwraps the box. The displeasure turns to amusement and he huffs out a laugh, picking up the small [arrow magnet](http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_vmHaKhcKHbk/SoG-uGIVPZI/AAAAAAAAAzM/I_FespMPh1A/s400/Picture+10.png) inside.

“There. Now you can leave me a note warning me when you’re going to be doing something stupid like turning off the water to fix the sink, instead of shutting it off when I have conditioner in my hair.”

“That happened  _one_  time.”

“I’m still working through the trauma.”

Oliver nods, smiling, and shuts the box. He hesitates for a moment then leans forward, placing a quick kiss on her cheek.

“Thank you,” he says, his voice soft in the way it only ever is when he’s grateful.

Felicity can feel the slight warmth of a blush rising in her cheeks, but she doesn’t let it faze her. She pushes her glasses up on her nose, tucks her hair behind her ear and nods.

“I’ll go order some pizza.”

The magnet joins the others on the fridge the next day.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written for the OHP fic challenge. The prompt was: ”I think once you’ve thought about how a person sleeps, how they’d feel pressed up against your back, or your head on their chest, how compatible your bodies would be in the same space of a bed — once you’ve thought about that, you’re fucked.” – Unknown

The phone barely rings twice before a voice is answering urgently on the other end.

“What’s wrong?”

Sara’s voice sounds weary. Not tired weary – more along the lines of  _What did you do now?_  weary.

“Can’t I just be calling to say hello? Why does something have to be wrong?” Oliver protests, grinning. He leans back on the park bench across the street from Felicity’s townhouse. It’s a beautiful morning, and he’s just finished his run.

“The last time you called me, Oliver, my sister had been poisoned with Tibetan Pit-Viper venom.”

“Point.”

He hears Sara sigh in relief. “So, you’re saying nothing’s wrong? No one’s dying? The city isn’t in danger?”

“No more than usual.”

“Huh.” There’s a lot of interference and her voice sounds far away, which means she’s probably in the middle of nowhere on assignment for the League. “You’re really just calling to say hello?”

Oliver hesitates, moving his cell phone to his other ear.

“Ha. Spill, Ollie. What’s wrong?”

“ _Nothing_. I meant it Sara.”

“Okay…” she answers, drawing out the word. “Well, listen, it’s not really the best time right now, so if there’s no emergency or anything, then I really ha-“

“I moved in with Felicity.”

The silence on the other end of the line is deafening. “Oh?” Sara finally asks. He can tell she’s trying to go for nonchalance, but he can hear the smile in her voice, and she’s not fooling anyone.

“Shut up.”

Her laughter carries over loud and clear, despite the interference. “I didn’t say anything!”

Oliver doesn’t know what to say. Honestly, he’s not entirely sure why he called Sara, other than the fact that she is the most like him out of anybody he knows. He’s always been able to talk to her, even when he isn’t sure what he wants to talk  _about_.

“You know,” she begins, and Oliver immediately feels relief that she’s steering the conversation now. “We never really discussed what happened between you and Felicity in the manor.”

Oliver watches a blue-jay land on the parking meter in front of him before flitting away. “What’s there to talk about? We needed to sell it and we did.  _You_  know that.  _Felicity_  knows that-“

“Do  _you_  know that, Ollie?”

Oliver’s jaw sets.

“Yes.”

“Liar.”

Oliver doesn’t know how to respond to that, so he doesn’t say anything.

“You told her you loved her, and  _Slade_  believed it when the three of us all know you can’t lie for shit. And now you’re living with her.”

Oliver can hear murmurs in the background on Sara’s end of the line. She says something in Arabic to someone else and then gets back on.

“Listen, Ollie, I’m going to have to go soon.”

“Yeah, okay,” he says, leaning forward and propping his elbows on his knees.

“Just one question – Have you thought about sleeping with her yet? And before you say anything, I don’t mean  _sex_  – just - sleeping.”

Oliver frowns. “What? Why?”

“Because in my experience, once you’ve thought about how a person sleeps, how they’d feel pressed up against your back, or your head on their chest, how compatible your bodies would be in the same space of a bed — once you’ve thought about that, you’re fucked.”

Oliver lets his gaze wander across the street, to the house that he’d begun to call home. He thinks about the blonde woman inside, and how just last night, he’d woken her up after she’d fallen asleep on the sofa, and helped her up to her room, and as she’d crawled underneath her polka-dotted comforter, for a moment, he’d imagined having a place right there next to her, instead of down the hall in the guest room. He thinks about how his bed had felt slightly emptier than it had in a long time.

Oliver runs a hand through his hair.

“Shit,” he says, more to himself than to Sara. “I’m fucked.”

Sara laughs. “ _Betawfeeh ya sadiki!_ ” she says, the words rolling off of her tongue, and Oliver doesn’t understand Arabic, but he knows her well enough to get the gist. She hangs up a moment later.

He stares at the screen blankly, feeling something monumental shift inside of his chest. Then he grabs his water bottle, puts his phone back in his pocket, and heads inside to shower. Felicity probably has a cup of coffee waiting for him on the kitchen counter.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written for the Olicity Hiatus Fic Challenge. Picture prompt.

“Felicity, I need you to decrypt the laptop I found at the warehouse,” Oliver said, as the steel door of their new lair clanged shut behind him, already pulling his hood off and rolling his right shoulder. He’d taken a hit with an iron bar earlier that evening, infiltrating one of the Triad’s warehouses at the docks.

He put his bow back in its case, unsnapping the straps of his quiver and groaning as he slid it off.

“Hey, are you okay?” Felicity asked, spinning around in her chair.

“Yeah, just didn’t see one of their guys come up behind me.”

“Need me to take a look?”

Oliver shook his head. “No, I’ll be fine. I just need an ice pack. I  _do_ , however, need you to look at  _this_  and see what you can get off of it.” He held the laptop up before placing it on a table and heading to the medical supplies to grab the pack.

Felicity stood up and came over, lifting the computer and turning it over in her hands.

“Shouldn’t be too hard,” she said taking it back to her desk and plugging it in. “And by that I mean it’ll probably be pathetically easy. You’d think being one of the most well-known mafia groups in the world would mean better technical security but nope…” She trailed off as she started to run diagnostics.

Oliver came up behind her and was about to ask her about her evening when he noticed her hair.

“Felicity?”

“Yeah?”

“Why do you have two of my arrows in your hair?”

Felicity froze, stopping what she was doing. “Oh.” She turned slowly in her chair and looked up at him, biting her lip. “Um. My hair-tie broke.”

“Your hair-tie.”

“Yes.”

“Your hair-tie broke, so you decided to use deadly projectiles to keep it up instead.”

“Well, it’s just a couple of your spare shafts, they don’t have a point to them or anything, but pretty much, yeah.”

Oliver tilted his head, trying not to show how amused he was, and pretty sure he was failing.

Something beeped and Felicity spun back.

“Oh my God!” she groaned. “They’re using the standard Windows firewall. Might as well be using a paper condom…”

They  _both_  froze at that. Five seconds passed where Oliver could practically hear Felicity’s horror in the silence, and then she slowly reached up and pulled the arrows out, letting her hair fall and hide her face.

She reached behind her and handed them to him.

“Here. Take your arrows and go. Pretend I didn’t say that, and no one needs to get hurt.”

Oliver tried not to laugh as he took them from her, but a snort slipped through and he grinned.

“Not a word,” Felicity said again, typing furiously. “Shoo.”

Oliver nodded, moving away to put the shafts back in their place. He got out of the suit, changing back into a tee shirt and sweat pants, and then wrapped his shoulder, securing the ice-pack firmly in place.

By the time he was done, Felicity still hadn’t said another word and was completely engrossed in what she was doing.

He stepped up next to her and gently laid down a rubber band on the desk.

“Wake me up when you’re done and we’ll head home,” he said, and headed to the back of the lair to lie down on the spare cot.

When Felicity woke him up an hour later, she had her hair up again and the information regarding the Triad’s next hit.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written for the Olicity Hiatus Project fic challenge. Picture prompt.

“What do you think? Green or blue?” Felicity asked.

“Huh? What?” Oliver responded, not really paying attention as the Starling City Kings scored another hockey goal.

“Oooliverrrr…” A foot shoved into his thigh, poking insistently, trying to get his attention.

He snorted, finally dragging his attention away from the TV screen to look over at his now room-mate.

Felicity had her hair piled up on top of her head, still damp from her shower. Her face was scrubbed clean of make-up and she was wearing what he had come to learn was her favorite t-shirt, a ratty old thing from MIT. She was holding up two bottles of nail-polish.

Felicity pursed her lips together in amusement, tilting her head to the side. “Green?” she asked, wiggling the bottle in between two fingers. “Or blue?”

“For your fingers?”

Felicity shook her head. “Toes.”                      

He glanced down at the foot still shoved into his leg, but at that moment, he heard a cheer rise up from the audience at the game, and he was distracted again.

“Oh, come on!” he yelled, gesturing at the screen, when he realized that the opposing team had scored.

Suddenly, the foot was gone, and he looked over just in time to see Felicity sigh.

“Hey,” he said, reaching for her ankle. “Hey!”

Felicity arched an eyebrow.

“I’m sorry. I like the blue. Blue’s good.”

Felicity nodded, but that playful look she’d had on her face before was gone.

How often did they get to do this? How often did he get to simply enjoy the company of one of his best friends on a Wednesday night?

How often did they just get to  _live_?

Oliver reached over and took the blue bottle from her and then pulled her foot into his lap.

He felt Felicity tense for a moment, and he looked up, both eyebrows raised in question. Finally she nodded.

As he unscrewed to cap, she spoke up – “How do I know you aren’t going to mess up and get blue all over my toes?”

The sharp smell of the nail polish hit his nostrils and a distant memory surfaced along with it.

“Thea used to make me do her nails. Before the island.”

The lightness of Felicity’s laugh made him smile.

“Somehow, I can picture that perfectly.”

The crowd cheered again, but Oliver refused to take his attention off of Felicity’s big toe, the nail now painted a bright shade of royal blue.

“I might have been a failure at a lot of things before. But not at being a big brother. No matter what was going on in my life, no matter how busy I was, Sunday afternoons were always hers. We’d eat lunch together, play at whatever she wanted. She’d tell me about her friends and school, and her dance lessons. She liked pink nail polish.”

Felicity didn’t say anything as he continued.

“I lost track of the days after The Gambit went down… But the first Sunday I was aware of, I thought about her. I wondered who would take her to her recitals now that I wasn’t there. Who she would have to talk to. I wondered who would have the time to paint her nails…”

The hockey game had become nothing more than background noise as he felt the loss of those missing years.

“Hey,” Felicity’s voice was soft, and Oliver looked up, letting the past slip away. They sat in silence, just watching each other, taking each other in, and Oliver was struck by the understanding in her eyes.

“Come on,” he said at last. “Give me your other foot.”


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written for the Olicity Hiatus Project fic challenge. Prompt: ”Maybe home is nothing but two arms holding you tight when you’re at your worst.” - Yara Bashraheel.

Felicity has never truly felt like she has a home. She’s lived in houses, with other people, but the closest she remembers to feeling like home was that last hug her father gave her before walking out the door.

She doesn’t hug anyone else for a very long time.

The first time she hugs Oliver, she’s just so relieved he’s alive, she can’t keep the emotion to herself. She needs to share it, needs him to know how glad she is to have him back. Where would she go if he wasn’t there? Where would she be if he’d never stepped into her life? She’s never felt so anchored to another person, and it scares her, just a little.

The second time he is breaking to pieces in front of her, weighed down by the responsibility of the dead, and of the living who aren’t far from joining them. The second time she hugs him is to pull together his fractured soul, to make him whole again so he has a fighting chance. He has been steady for her, for everyone before, when the world has been falling apart, now she will stand strong for him, a firm wall sheltering him from himself.

Afterwards, he doesn’t have anywhere to go. He’s lost almost everything and is left without a place to call his own. She offers hers. It’s never been much of a home and it’s the least she can do. She’s there by herself, lonely, and spends as much time away as she can. Maybe with him, if he’s there… That’s the first time he hugs her, and she soaks it in, holding on tight for those few moments before smiling and showing him where the guest room is.

They find out where his sister has gone – the last piece of home he had left. He rages for hours, pummeling any equipment he can get his hands on in the lair, patrolling twice as long and sending three times as many criminals in the precinct’s direction. He’s so angry, so lost. When the fire finally dies down to embers, she’s there, holding him close as he lets himself break just a little bit more, knowing she’ll hold on to the pieces.

Her mother dies. It’s sudden and leaves her drifting in a world she doesn’t recognize. She didn’t get along with her mother, never felt welcome, not since she left for college, (and even before if she’s being honest). But there was always a chance that things would change… The years of abuse don’t mean anything in the face of the shame she feels at her failure to reconcile. It doesn’t matter that she’d tried over and over again. She can’t remember those times. She can’t find her center, but that’s when he’s there. Every so often, when she feels like she’s going under, a pair of strong arms wrap around her and bring her back to herself. Bring her back to a place where she is loved, and cherished, and seen for the guiding light that she is.

And that’s when Felicity finally begins to understand.

Maybe home is nothing but two arms holding you tight when you’re at your worst. 


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> AU prompt: It’s raining and you forgot your umbrella so come over and stand under mine while we wait for the bus.

Honestly, he should have known better than to even get out of bed this morning.

Oliver hated the rain, and waking up to gloomy skies and howling winds, to thunder and lightning and the rain pounding so hard against his window, it sounded like bullets, he should have just closed his eyes and gone right back to sleep.

But a series of unavoidable meetings and urgent business dictated he suck it up anyway.

It was Raisa’s day off, which meant toast for breakfast (which he burned), and when he spilled his coffee down the front of his shirt, he had to actually weigh whether or not he had enough time to change, or if his suit jacket would be enough to cover the stain.

None of it mattered in the end, because there he was, extremely late, soaked to the bone, standing in the torrential downpour and trying to hail a cab while his driver waited for a tow truck. The silver Lexus had just up and died on them at the corner of Fifth and Roosevelt. And his umbrella had blown away shortly after.

"Dammit," Oliver growled as the seventh cab just passed him by. No cabbie wanted a fare that was going to leave Lake Michigan in their backseat.

"Um, excuse me?"

Oliver blinked rain water out of his eyes and turned to find a petite blonde wearing a light green pea-coat and glasses, looking up at him from underneath a bright orange polka-dotted umbrella. Her lips were painted a vibrant shade of fuchsia. She was an explosion of color in a world made of gray.

"Oliver Queen?"

He blinked again. “How do you know who I am?”

The woman shook her head. “Of course I know who you are, Mr. Queen.”

Oliver laughed, despite the trickle of ice-cold water currently dripping down the back of his shirt. “No, Mr. Queen was my father.”

"Well, yeah, I know, but he died." She froze, looking mortified for a moment. "I mean, well, yeah, he died, but I shouldn’t just come out and say things like that, right? Obviously, that’s horrible, I didn’t mean to make light of - yeah, no, okay, um. Three, two, one…"

Oliver took a deep breath, a smile playing at the edges of his lips.

"Sorry, I’m Felicity Smoak. And you’re still standing in the rain while I babble. Would you like to share my umbrella?"

Oliver glanced at the street again as another cab flew by, then back at the woman - Felicity. She raised her eyebrows in question and lifted her umbrella up high enough for him to come under, and Oliver crowded in next to her, grateful for the reprieve.

"Thank you," he said. "Although you still didn’t answer my question."

Felicity started. “Oh, I work at Queen Consolidated. I’m an IT girl.”

Oliver tilted his head, smiling.

"Which actually makes it sound a lot cuter than it is? IT work is really like the least glamorous thing in the world, mainly resetting people’s passwords and expanding their email inboxes." Her eyes widened as she looked up at him. "Not that I’m complaining! It’s a good job, I’m very happy to have it, Mr. Queen."

For the first time that day, Oliver laughed. “Please, call me Oliver,” he said warmly. “Nice to meet you, Felicity Smoak.”

Felicity grinned and Oliver realized in that second, that he was completely taken with her.

"Do you want to wait for the bus with me?" she asked. "You won’t get a cab in this mess, and the bus will be here any second…" She gestured back towards the bus stop.

Oliver considered for a moment, before nodding, and following her back to the stop.

Maybe getting out of bed this morning hadn’t been the worst idea after all.


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> AU prompt: Accidentally fell in your lap while standing on this crowded bus. :-)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This may be my most reblogged tumblr ficlet ever, just fyi.

Hot Guy got on to her bus every morning from the stop outside of the Eagle Fitness Gym, because of  _course_  he did. Of  _course_  Hot Guy worked out every morning. You didn’t look like Hot Guy looked unless you worked out every morning.

And every morning, Felicity watched him take a seat towards the back of the bus, got the slightest hint of his scent as he walked by - something tangy (probably like,  _ocean_  scented body-wash or something, because yeah) and light cologne - and okay, it was probably a little creepy that she knew what he smelled like, but she couldn’t help it, she had  _needs_.

One day, Felicity kept telling herself -  _one day_ , she’d make a move.

And every day went by, and she didn’t.

The bus pulled in to the Eagle Fitness Gym bus stop on Monday morning, and Felicity perked up, stealthily keeping an eye on the front. But she was distracted when she saw a  _very_  pregnant woman get on with several grocery bags, and she immediately got up and approached her, Hot Guy momentarily forgotten.

"Hey, here, let me help you with that," she said.

The woman looked surprised. “Oh my God, would you mind? Thank you  _so_ much!” And Felicity took her bags and helped her settle in the spot she’d previously been sitting in. She caught the slightest whiff of familiar cologne, but was busy tying a bag with oranges closed so they wouldn’t fall out and roll away. When she was done, she moved towards the back exit of the bus where there was enough room to stand. The bus had filled up, and she was getting off in a few stops anyway.

Sighing, she shot a quick glance towards the back where she knew Hot Guy usually sat, only he wasn’t there. She frowned. Maybe he hadn’t come today? But she’d thought - 

The bus pulled out, only to screech to halt. The driver had slammed the breaks, though apparently too late, because they hit something a moment later. Felicity cried out in surprise, trying to grab at anything to stay upright, and missed, and then -  _oh crap_  - she completely lost her balance, falling backwards, into - 

A pair of strong arms caught her as she plopped down into someone’s lap.

And as though that wasn’t mortifying enough, she turned around and came face to face with - 

"Hot Guy!"

 _Fuck_.

"I mean, um -"

A slow smile spread across his face, and Felicity got her first up-close look at the bluest eyes she’d ever seen.

"Oliver Queen, actually. I only let my closest friends call me Hot Guy."

Felicity dropped her face in her hands. “Oh my  _gooood_ ,” she groaned.

She felt more than heard him laugh.

"And who do I have the pleasure of being a chair for this morning? Because, to be honest, I’ve been calling you Cute Glasses Girl in my head all of this time, and it would be really nice to finally put a name to the face."

Felicity froze before slowly lifting her head. “Really?” she asked him.

Hot G-  _Oliver_ , nodded. Then he actually looked sheepish as he added, “I’ve - um,  been meaning to talk to you for a while now, but I just never…” He shrugged, looking a little helpless.

"Oh," she exclaimed softly, blinking. "Oh." She got caught up in the sincerity in his eyes, and with a sudden shift, became incredibly aware of his  _very_  large hands on her waist, of their warmth, of his still damp hair, and ocean(?) scented body-wash. Of her heart-rate picking up and her stomach swooping.

"Um…"

Oliver swallowed, she was close enough to see his throat work, and then he was pulling his eyes way from hers, glancing up towards the front of the bus.

"It, uh - looks like the bus might be stuck here for a while," he said. 

Slowly, Felicity became aware of her surroundings again, and heard the bus driver shouting at someone in the street. She looked out the window to see steam billowing past.

Oliver cleared his throat. “Do you, uh - there’s a coffee shop nearby. Do you like coffee? We could get coffee…?” 

It took her a moment to realize he still didn’t know her name.

"Felicity. My name’s Felicity."

Oliver smiled. “Would you like to get coffee with me, Felicity?”

She bit her lip, trying to hold back her grin and ultimately failing. Felicity nodded and stood, holding out her hand to pull Oliver up.

"I’d love to."


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Based on the Sara/Laurel dialogue tease a couple of days ago.

It’s been over half a year since she’s seen her sister, and Sara watches with a grin from the back of the courtroom as Laurel does what she does best - defends those who can’t defend themselves.

She’s missed her. Sara’s been all over the world in the last 7 months, been keeping busy, but Laurel’s always been in the back of her mind. Laurel who helped her come to terms with who she is. Laurel who made her feel like a hero, proud of who she was for the first time in years.

And there she is, every bit as much of a hero in front of that jury.

She’s so proud of her in that moment.

Who is she kidding? She’s always felt a tremendous amount of pride for Laurel.

The new DA for Starling City finishes her closing statement with a flourish, and as she heads back to her seat, finally catches sight of Sara sitting in the back row. She’s surprised, Sara can tell, but a moment later Laurel’s face splits into a brilliant smile, one Sara can’t help but mirror, before she sits back down.

Later, once the jury has retired to discuss the case, she meets Laurel in the hallway, hugging her tightly. Something’s tightening in her throat, rising up in her chest and she swallows down tears, dispelling them with a short laugh. God she missed her sister.

"Dinah Laurel Lance," she says at last, "Always trying to save the world."

She doesn’t catch the slight darkening of Laurel’s eyes at that, doesn’t know that her words have just transported her sister back two years to when someone else had told her the very same thing. Can’t possibly realize how Laurel’s stomach twists as she thinks of dark eyes filled with laughter, of a gentle heart hiding behind a cocky grin, of a boy she’d known who’d grown into a man who’d loved her, been loved by her, died for her.

_Hey, if I don’t try and save it, who will?_

Sara can’t know that when Laurel’s arms tighten around her, a part of her wishes she was holding someone else. These pangs come less often now, but when they come, they leave her breathless.

By the time Sara steps back, Laurel is all smiles.

"Runs in the family," she says, tucking a strand of Sara’s hair behind her ear.

And maybe Sara blushes at the praise, maybe she doesn’t, but she  _does_ laugh.

And they get lunch.


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First sentence prompt from freaoscanlin.

"Okay, the plane I can understand and the fighting ability is obvious and the abs are—yeah, I won't finish that sentence—but Oliver...when exactly did you have time to get so comfortable riding a camel again?"

The early morning sun beats down on them. It’s not even 10 am yet, and the Eilat summer air is already hot and dry. Felicity is glad for the kafiya she has wrapped around her head as a makeshift hat, and even more thankful for the water bottles the hotel concierge had advised them to take when they had left that morning.

Oliver clears his throat and mumbles something incoherent.

"Sorry, what was that?" Felicity asks, struggling once again to keep her balance on  _her_  camel, gripping the front of the saddle in a death grip.

He mutters something again, but she catches it this time. And Felicity can’t help it. Her face breaks into a grin because her husband is so completely ridiculous.

"You took camel riding lessons," she says, voice steady, folding her lips over her teeth and biting down to keep from laughing. Laughter from her right now might actually hurt his feelings, when he’d apparently gone to so much trouble to make sure he wouldn’t look silly on their honeymoon.

"Oliver, how could you even know we’d  _go_  camel riding?”

Oliver clears his throat. “I looked up activities to do in Israel, and saw there were a lot of camel ranches in Eilat, and thought it would be fun…”

"So you took camel riding lessons on the off-chance that-"

Oliver doesn’t let her finish. “Yup.”

He’s sitting straight backed on his camel, following the line of other tourists riding before them, and he would look almost regal if the situation wasn’t so funny.

"You know I’d still love you if you-"

"Yup."

Felicity hid her grin and watched Oliver take a drink from his water bottle.

"Okay," she said, and continued following his lead.


	18. Team Arrow - For All of Your Matchmaking Needs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Post 3x08 drabble.
> 
> “Are we actually going to do this?” Felicity asked, wheeling herself closer to them. “Are we actually going to try to get Digg to propose?”

Of all people, it was actually, well, _technically_ Roy who came up with the plan.

“I just don’t understand how the two of them aren’t married yet,” he said, sitting on Felicity’s desk, watching Diggle climb the stairs. Lyla had called about a baby Sara emergency, and Diggle had dropped (literally dropped, he’d been stocking med supplies at the time) what he was doing to rush home.

“I mean, they’re pretty much married already. They live together, they have a baby, and they’re in love…” Roy shook his head. “People are dumb.”

Oliver put down the arrow he was in the middle of fletching. “It’s not our call, Roy.”

“What, do you disagree with me?” Roy asked, raising an eyebrow.

Oliver folded his lips over his teeth. “No,” he finally admitted.

Felicity slowly spun around in her chair. “Sometimes people don’t realize something’s right there in front of them, you know? Maybe they haven’t thought about it? Or they have, but sort of like, a back burner thing…”

Roy snorted. “Yeah, well, someone should move it to the front burner. A wedding would be fun.”

Felicity and Oliver both looked at Roy in surprise.

“What?” he asked, looking suddenly defensive. “I like weddings. I like the dancing and drinks and the whole romantic thing. You have a problem with that?”

Felicity’s eyebrow shot up and she pursed her lips, shaking her head. “Nooooo,” she said, drawing out the word, “Definitely not.”

Oliver ducked his chin to hide a smile.

“So,” she continued. “What’s your suggestion?”

Roy shrugged. “Keep talking about them like they’re married until Digg gets tired of arguing the point?”

He’d obviously meant it as a joke but…

Oliver cleared his throat. “That could… _actually_ work.”

Roy frowned. “Wait, what?”

Shrugging, Oliver picked up an arrow shaft, twirling it between his fingers. “If it just hasn’t really been on his mind, us talking about it all the time would at least make him think about it…)

“Are we actually going to do this?” Felicity asked, wheeling herself closer to them. “Are we actually going to try to get Digg to propose?” Her eyes were sparkling under the foundry lights and she looked more excited than she’d seemed in a while.

Oliver blinked. “I- yeah. We… let’s do it.”

Felicity gave a little fist pump. “Yes!” she exclaimed. “Operation: Wedding Bells is now in effect!”

Roy watched them nod at each other and then get back to work.

“What just happened?”

~*~

They jumped to it with gusto.

At Verdant, when Lyla came to meet Digg at the end of a long day, Oliver introduced her as Diggle’s wife to Thea.

“It’s ex-wife, actually,” Lyla corrected, looking at Oliver oddly.

“Oh, I thought you two had a baby together and lived together…?” Thea seemed confused.

Oliver could have hugged her then and there.

Roy took to muttering,” Married couples,” with a roll of his eyes every time Diggle had to cut out of the foundry for family business.

Digg’s frustrated sighs in response did not go unnoticed.

Felicity just let herself ramble more than usual.

“Oh, hey Digg? Lyla sent this over for you to sign… It’s a non-disclosure agreement for ARGUS. They’re giving you a higher level security pass since you’re Lyla’s significant other. I mean, not that you’re married or anything, just that, you know. You’re her baby daddy, and you live together, so this makes it a little easier to have an open, meaningful relationship without too many secrets hanging over your heads. Because, well, I mean, married people shouldn’t keep secrets. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to say married people – I _know_ you’re not married… That just slipped out. I guess it’s just easier to think about it that way because you guys sort of aren’t really in a definable relationship, you know? You were married, not married, had a baby, and Lyla hung out of a helicopter with a rocket launcher to save your life… I should probably stop talking… Um, need a pen?”

And then they had their first real breakthrough right before the team from Central City showed up.

“You really don’t care about my marriage, do you?” Diggle asked.

Felicity and Roy glanced at each other, eyes wide, biting down grins. Oliver, however, through sheer force of will, managed to keep a straight face and shot back, “Well, I _would_ , if you and Lyla were still married…”

Felicity caught the glimmer of triumph in his eyes as he turned and walked away.

The tables had turned.

And Barry’s team just added fuel to the fire.

Their unaffected assumptions that Digg and Lyla were married put the final touch on the metaphorical wedding cake.

When Diggle let all of them know he and Lyla had decided to give married life another shot, Oliver, Felicity and Roy pretended to be surprised, but did not have to fake how genuinely thrilled they were for their friend.

“I guess we just hadn’t really thought about it,” Diggle said, sitting on Lyla’s bed and holding her hand. “Other stuff got in the way, you know?”

“What changed?” Oliver asked, and Felicity narrowed her eyes. He was angling for some sort of acknowledgment, and he was going to end up spilling the beans.

Turned out, she didn’t have to worry.

Diggle barked out a laugh. “The three of you were so obviously itching for a wedding. So we decided to give you one.”

Oliver’s eyes widened.

“In the future? Leave the psychological warfare to the experts, huh?” He shook his head.

“ _Amateurs_.”

 


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> olicity: prompt - flashing eachother

Felicity walks down the foundry stairs to the sound of Oliver at work on the salmon ladder.

She assumes it’s just business as usual until she spots Roy and Digg off in the corner, muttering and glancing over at him.

Normally she’d head straight for her computers, but she steps over to them instead.

"What’s up?"

The two glance at each other before Roy, somewhat shame-facedly says, “We were talking about personal bests, and found out Oliver’s for the salmon ladder.”

Felicity tilts her head. “Okay? So?”

Digg rolls his shoulders. “So we bet him that he couldn’t beat it.”

Felicity raises an eyebrow.

"Let me guess. You’re going to lose?"

Roy shuffles his feet.

Felicity glances back towards her computers and the ladder. Oliver’s definitely built up a sweat, but he doesn’t look close to being tired yet.

"What did you bet?"

Diggle sighs. “If we win, he has to buy us new gear, whatever we want. If he wins, though, Roy and I are on cleaning duty in the foundry for the next two months.”

Roy shakes his head. “I really don’t want to have to wash Oliver’s rash guards every day. Like, I know you’re into him blondie, but he stinks by the end of a patrol.”

"Okay, okay," she says, shaking her head, and holding her hand up to stop him. She’s really not interested in hearing him expand on that. "If I can get Oliver to stop, you two are going to owe me big, understood?"

Roy’s eyes go wide and Diggle smiles.

"You got it," he says.

"And you’re going to get me the new quantum processor I’ve had my eye on. I don’t care if one of you has to give up on something you wanted. I’m getting that processor."

Both men nod.

Felicity makes a moue. “Okay.”

Without any preamble, she walks over to her computers and drops her things in her chair.

She’s just glad she’s wearing shorts and a tank top today instead of a dress as she grabs the hem of her shirt, looks up at Oliver and lifts.

She’s not wearing a bra today either.

A loud clang and a shout of surprise and Oliver’s on the floor cursing in Russian a second later.

Felicity grins smugly and sits down.


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> olicity: prompt - confessing a fetish.

The sweat is still cooling on their bodies when Felicity rolls onto her side and says, “Hey, do you have any, like, weird kinks?”

Oliver’s eyebrows shoot up, and immediately, the unbidden image of himself bound, gagged, and blindfolded, with Felicity standing over him with a whip, comes to mind.

"Uh-"

"Because, um, I sort of have a thing where…" she bites her lip.

"You know what? Never mind."

He should drop it. He should really drop it. Because even though now he is intensely curious, having this conversation will most likely result in  _both_ of them having to spill about their kinks, and he’s not so sure he’s ready to share, not sure what Felicity’s response would be. He’s never felt like he could tell anyone about… well. He doesn’t think two weeks into - whatever this is with Felicity (God it’s everything, it’s  _everything_ ), is the time to drop his deepest, darkest desires.

But…

"No, tell me," he murmurs.

Felicity’s eyes flutter shut as she takes a deep breath.

"Okay," she says. "Okay."

And he can tell, she’s fortifying herself.

"I - um, I like to be in control sometimes?"

Oliver blinks.

"Like, not just, me on top, or me telling you what I like or little things like that, but  _in control_ , in control.”

Oliver feels his mouth go dry because this isn’t happening. This can’t be happening. If Felicity’s getting at what he thinks she’s getting at… This can’t be that perfect. He can’t be that lucky - can he?

His voice has dropped to a whisper when he finally manages to say, “Felicity…” his heart is pounding, “are you - are you a Domme?”

Her eyes snap back to his. And he can see it there. How had he missed it before now? She looks at him and he immediately wants to defer, wants to  _kneel_.

His eyes go wide, he swallows, and he sees the moment she recognizes the same in him.

"Oliver," she says, and her voice has dropped two octaves. He came not six minutes ago, but he immediately feels his cock twitch, begin to thicken.

She rises up on her knees and places a hand on his chest, pressing lightly, just a declaration of intent, nothing more, but it’s enough to make his breath hitch.

"Oliver, do you want me in control?"

It takes him a moment to find his tongue. He knows she can see how shallowly he’s breathing, knows she can see what only a few words have done to him already.

"Yes," he manages to get out, voice strangled.

The pressure on his chest increases. “Yes,  _what_?” she asks, raising an eyebrow.

"Yes, Mistress."


End file.
